I may be a wordsmith wrapped up carefully arranging letters on the page, but I love music because it can be a boundless universal language. For example, Au Revoir Simone, the sorrowful yet sweet Brooklyn trio with a French name. Apparently they sing in preteen girl as well as good ole Texan.
On the last night of SXSW I found myself wandering down Sixth Street, eyes alternating between a crumpled schedule and the mass of green-clad humanity around me. Stagnant lines and disgruntled bouncers blocked the entrance to every showcase. I felt as if the crowd was pushing me west and south, towards a small bar isolated at the end of Congress Avenue and Au Revoir Simone. Though this particular show had been my secret desire all night, it seemed slightly inappropriate. After all, I was leading a group of intoxicated, primarily male Texas Exes around a music festival on St. Patrick’s Day. The vibe wasn’t exactly emo-chick-keyboardists.
Yet Au Revoir Simone was the perfect farewell to a whirlwind week. We showed up at Copa just in time to get drinks and watch the girls set up. It just happened to be the only bar in town that didn’t have a.) a line, b.) a 45 minute drink line or c.) 500 hip and sweaty fans milling in front of a tiny stage. In my opinion, this is the sort of show you must experience at SXSW. Au Revoir Simone sell out headlining shows in Europe but are just now getting foothold in the States. I stumbled across them this winter, fell in love with their sound and prayed they would come through Austin. One prayer had been answered, I could only hope the music lived up to my expectations.
Erika Forster, Annie Hart and Heather D'Angelo truly were angels, badass banged Brooklyn angels, which are the best kind. Standing in a forest of wires and electronic instruments, the three young women blended their voices and chords in a surprisingly organic sound. The ethereal lyrics floated over a thick haze of electric keyboards, hypnotizing, and I never wanted it to end.
Neither did my fraternal crew. When the show did come to a close, more than one was ready to sweep a Simone off her feet. I had a preconceived vision of the indie popsters as an angsty vehicle for feminine power, and they beautifully exceeded my narrow definition. All of us were smiling, from the boisterous cowboys to the Chicago blogger, none of us wanted to say goodbye.


